


The Little Corporal

by brookebond



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Strong Language, no parrots were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: Arthur, a parrot, and some swearing.





	The Little Corporal

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember who exactly wanted a fic with a talking parrot, but it was someone!  
> So here one is.  
> I have never owned a parrot in my life (let alone a bird) so I've taken a lot of liberties... I did watch a lot of youtube videos though.
> 
> I have had a million people look over this (at least it feels that way).  
> Thank you pinkys_creature_feature, swtalmnd, Somedrunkpirate, iamanonniemouse, and jambees221B for cheering me on when I lost faith in this little fic.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it as much as Napoleon does!

Arthur wiped his brow for what felt like the hundredth time, careful of keeping the knife angled away from his face.

It was hot as balls and Arthur’s fan had stopped working a few days ago. He’d never found the time to get a new one and was suffering the consequences—being a sweaty mess while he attempted to cook dinner and not die from overheating. The window was open but it wasn’t doing much to cool Arthur down. According to the weather channel, the heatwave was only going to get worse.

“Come on mate, just a little nibble,” a voice said in a pleading tone.

It was a common occurrence when the window was open, Arthur’s neighbour’s voice floating in. They’d never talked in person before, but Arthur felt intimately familiar with the British accent. That was mostly because he eavesdropped any chance he got. He even went as far to go to the laundry room at the same time. Really, Arthur was worried about being classified as a stalker so he had tried to avoid going anywhere his neighbour was, but he let himself have these moments with the window open. No one could see him, so where was the harm?

Arthur sliced through the tip of a carrot, flipping it around and chopping off the other end before methodically cutting it up into thin slices. He tossed the carrot into a small bowl and grabbed a bell pepper from the fridge, taking it to the sink to start cleaning it off. He liked to rinse everything, just to make sure they were clean because he didn’t always trust supermarkets to have done it already.

He was in the middle of rinsing the bell pepper when a flash of blue fluttered through his window and onto the counter in front of him. Before he could react, the bird—it was obvious now that he’d gotten a good look at it—ducked its head under the water. Clearly unsatisfied with it, the bird turned the pressure up higher and ducked back under, splashing Arthur in the process.

“What the fuck?” he asked, stepping back and dropping the bell pepper into the sink, stepping away from the clearly insane creature. How the hell was this his life?

“Fuck,” the bird parroted.

Arthur stared at it, the word parrot flitting through his brain. “Where did you come from?” It was a stupid question, Arthur knew it, but he mostly asked himself just to have something to think about.

His eyes flicked to the window the bird had flown in from and he hurried to close it. At least that way it wouldn’t be able to fly away before he figured out what to do.

“Fuck,” the bird repeated.

It was weird, hearing a bird speak but a small part of him was kind of amused at the swearing. Who would teach an animal to copy those words?

He had no idea what to do with a bird, so Arthur pulled out his phone and searched for the number of the local animal control.

He kept an eye on the bird as the phone rang, watching it laugh and play in the water. It was weird, really weird, but the bird seemed happy enough to keep ducking its head under the spray and rinsing itself off. Arthur wondered if it was as hot as him. Maybe there wasn’t much water wherever it had come from.

The call connected at the same moment someone knocked on his door.

“Ah, hi,” Arthur responded to the person’s cheery greeting as he opened the door.

‘ _ Fuck _ ,’ he thought unhelpfully. Standing in his doorway was his neighbour—his hot neighbour he’d been admiring for far too long—and he was shirtless. It was the first thing Arthur saw and his mouth went dry at the sight of the dark ink covering his chest and biceps. His eyes tracked up his neighbour’s body—admiring the muscles on the way—to his face which was partially hidden by a ratty, green trucker cap, but there was a bashful grin that made Arthur smile in response.

“Sir?” he heard the cheery person on the phone say.

"Ah, sorry darling for disturbing you,” the hot neighbour said. “I was just wondering if you’ve seen Napoleon.”

Arthur blinked. “Who?”

“Oh um, a blue and gold macaw. He flew out the window, little blighter.”

It took a moment but Arthur realised he was talking about the bird that was currently taking a shower in his sink and he nodded. “It’s over there,” he said, pointing towards the kitchen as he ended the call without saying goodbye. He vaguely noted it was rude but he couldn’t think properly as that bashful grin turned into a fully fledged thing that took his breath away.

“I've talked about this with him, but he never seems to listen," he said and followed Arthur’s gesture to come inside. “I’m Eames, sorry, I should have said before.” He flashed a smile and went to Napoleon who was still splashing Arthur’s wall and laughing while he did it.

“Arthur,” he replied, watching intently as Eames approached Napoleon. He was mostly captivated by the way Eames’ back shifted as he walked, the muscles catching the sunlight. It was unfair having such a gorgeous man in his apartment and not being able to do anything about it. Arthur didn’t want to come across weird, just in case Eames had noticed him acting like a creepy stalker.

"Napoleon, mate, what did we say about leaving the flat?" Eames asked, reaching out a hand to shut off the tap. “Have you been using up all of darling Arthur’s water?”

“No,” Napoleon responded, hopping onto Eames’ outstretched arm.

“I thought we talked about lying,” Eames teased the bird, nudging it to climb onto his shoulder.

Arthur wanted to laugh. As far as he knew, people didn’t interact with birds like Eames was, but there was something endearing about it that made Arthur hold his tongue.

“I was so worried about you.” Eames’ voice dropped the teasing lilt. “You could’ve been anywhere.”

“What?”

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Eames sighed, lifting a hand to scratch at the bird’s head. Napoleon responded by nipping at Eames’ finger, drawing a smile from the gorgeous man.

Arthur stared at them, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, like he should have given Eames and his bird some time alone. But Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away. His mind whirled, wondering how his hot neighbour had just become the cutest thing he’d ever seen. It seemed as though the bird meant more to Eames than Arthur could understand.

“Thank you,” Eames said, shooting Arthur a grateful smile. “We should get back though.”

“No,” Napoleon refused, trying to scuttle off Eames’ shoulders.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Eames scolded, pushing the parrot back onto his shoulder properly.

Arthur couldn’t hold back the chuckle that time and delighted in the way Eames’ eyes lit up as they landed on him.

“Thank you for finding him.”

Arthur shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, Eames’ focus on him suddenly too much. “I didn’t find him so much as he intruded.”

“Is that so?” Eames asked, side-eyeing the parrot that was nuzzling at his ear.

“No,” Napoleon said, earning a chuckle from Eames.

“Cheeky sod.”

“Would you like a coffee?” Arthur blurted out, not ready for Eames—or Napoleon—to leave just yet.

“Do you have any tea?”

“I think I’ve got something,” Arthur said, desperately hoping there was something in the back of a cupboard that could still be considered tea.

“Then we’d love to stay, wouldn’t we Napoleon?”

“Fuck!”

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to add, the original title for this was going to be 'Blown Apart' because of the truly terrible joke about Napoleon Bonaparte.  
> You know, Napoleon 'Blown Apart'.  
> Don't worry, it's a great dad joke xD

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Little Corporal Remix (Blown Apart Edition)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654357) by [QueenThayet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/pseuds/QueenThayet)




End file.
